A customer comes in to pick up a mobile order. As I hand it to her:

Me: “Have a nice day!”

Customer: “If I wanted to speak to people, I wouldn’t have placed a mobile order.”

She flounced out. Later, she complained about it to corporate!

Related:
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 15
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 14
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 13
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 12
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 11

One of my (many) chores when I was a teenager was to make sandwiches for my family after school. Today is cheese sandwiches. My dad usually has brown sauce on his cheese sandwiches, but because I’m an insecure wreck, I have to ask him every time whether or not he wants it. Nobody else wants sauce.

Me: “Daddy? Do you want brown sauce?”

Dad: “How many times do I have to tell you? Brown sauce on cheese sandwiches, no sauce on ham sandwiches!”

Me: “Okay, sorry. I was just checking…”

I finish making the sandwich and take it to my dad.

Dad: “[My Name]!”

Me: “Yeah?”

My dad has opened his sandwich to reveal the contents, and he gestures to it.

Dad: “What is this?”

Me: “Uh… Your sandwich?”

Dad: “This is orange cheese, [My Name].”

Me: “Uh-huh…”

Dad: “Why’d you put sauce on an orange cheese sandwich?”

Me: “But you said you wanted sauce on cheese sandwiches.”

Dad: “No, I want sauce on normal cheese sandwiches. Brown sauce doesn’t go with orange cheese.”

Me: “But I did ask—”

Dad: “Well, you didn’t tell me it was orange cheese, did you?”

Me: “Well, no, but—”

Dad: “So, I thought you were making normal cheese sandwiches, which are the ones where I do have brown sauce.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—”

Dad: “Are you going to make me a new one or do I have to do that myself, too?”

Me: “I— Ah, I’ll make you a new one.”

As I turned to go back into the kitchen, he called me back to take the unwanted sandwich with me. Since I knew he’d sulk if I threw it away, and since I hadn’t finished making my own sandwich yet, that ended up being my sandwich. Luckily, I don’t dislike brown sauce too much; I just prefer not to have it.

That’s probably why I have anxiety.

I work as a personal frame designer. The average turnaround time to do a custom order is about two weeks, and upon completion, we call the customer to let them know that they can come in to collect their order.

There was once an incident in the past where a customer wasn’t properly notified that their order was ready, so we take extensive notes on when and how we contact all customers to make sure no one is missed.

Customer: “I’m here to check if my order is f****** ready or not. I was told it would be done before Christmas and that you guys would call me, but obviously, that was bulls***. Should be under the name [Customer].”

Me: “Okay, yes, ma’am, that order is indeed finished and ready for pickup.”

Customer: “Then why the f*** did you guys not call and tell me? I’d better be getting a discount or something for this.”

Me: “Ma’am, according to my notes on this order, I was the one to personally call you on the date we told you to expect a call on but was hung up on after asking to speak to you. I tried—”

Customer: “Well, I probably thought you sounded like a telemarketer. Why the f*** didn’t you call back?”

Me: “Ma’am, I did. I tried calling a second time that immediately went through to voicemail, and I left a message to let you know that everything was ready.”

Customer: *Pauses* “Well, I never got any message! Shouldn’t you guys have texted me or something?”

Me: “From a business landline phone? No, we don’t do that. Besides, we reached out to you twice, and the paperwork we gave you when you placed the order provided you with our number to call us and check the order status at any time.”

Customer: “Whatever. Clearly, you don’t want to give me any discounts for wasting my time. Just give me my f****** order.”

Given that customers have to pay for their orders in advance and refunds are not possible on custom orders, the only wasted time was them trying to wrangle a discount.

I used to work in a grocery store but left a few months ago. I still go there to do my own shopping and say hello to some ex-coworkers.

Customer: “You, where are the frozen peas?”

Me: “Oh, if they don’t have any in this freezer, they must be out of stock.”

Customer: “Well, what are you waiting for? Go check the back!”

Me: “I can’t. I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Of course you do. I see you here all the time.”

Me: “I used to work here, but—”

Customer: “Whatever. Go do your job, or I will make it so that you no longer work here!”

Me: “Funny you should say that…”

I’m stacking shelves many years ago. A customer pokes me in the ribs — a big no-no, but I let it slide.

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “Which colour is better? Orange or blue? Hmm?

She is holding two pillow covers. I would normally engage the customer, ask about the room, and discuss how the orange might give a warmer feel. But her poking me and her sour disposition have already annoyed me.

Me: “The orange.”

Customer: “No, you’re wrong! The blue is better.”

Me: “Okay, glad to have been of help.”

Customer: “Well, I’m ready to pay.

Me: “Of course. The tills are right over there.”

Customer: “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Me: “One of my colleagues is at the tills. Unfortunately, I cannot leave this stock in the way as it would be a trip hazard.”

She seems to think about this. I get the impression she wasn’t expecting a factual, to-the-point answer.

Customer: “You know, if you restocked the shelves at night, then it wouldn’t need doing in the day!”

Me: “Then how would I help all of our ‘lovely’ customers with their colour choices?”

Customer: “I don’t like your tone.”

Me: “Duly noted. Please pay at the tills.”

She gave up and stormed off. I heard her argue with my manager, but when I asked all he said was:

Manager: “Oh, yeah, the crazy lady? I just told her that I would look into it and walked away from her. I don’t have time for fake problems.”